Her Mother's Voice
by shegoismyfav
Summary: "But by far, the thing she adored most about her mother was her voice. Deep, yet smooth and soothing with just a touch of sensuality, something she hadn't been able to identify in her youth." AU in the same universe as A Human and a Witch.


**AN: I'll be honest-this was completely inspired by Eleanor Audley's amazing voice/voice work in Sleeping Beauty. I think that's why I love Maleficent so much now. As a child her voice captivated me for hours on end. In case this is confusing, this is from the point of view of my OC Rose.**

It was perhaps the thing she loved most about her mother.

Her mother. The phrase that she had associated with the woman for many years now. The woman who was not her mother, who had not borne her from her own flesh, yet loved her as her own. The woman who wasn't truly a woman, but a being of evil and magic. To the child neglected by her true mother, she was all these things rolled into one.

She was her savior, her hero. Her salvation.

Without her, she surely would have either perished at an early age trying to care for herself, or she would have grown into an extremely violent and mean-spirited individual, destined to be feared, hated and alone for the rest of her days. And her mother, the sorceress from another world, one who so many feared, prevented this outcome.

Her mother was beautiful, of this there could be no dispute. At least, not to the child, now turned woman, who adored her. Elegant cheekbones, obsidian hair flowing passed her shoulders, and a nice figure to match. But by far, the thing she adored most about her mother was her voice. Deep, yet smooth and soothing with just a touch of sensuality, something she hadn't been able to identify in her youth.

It was possibly the most pleasurable sound she had heard in her life. It was that voice that had called to her to be careful while playing, read to her, soothed her fevers, and sometimes, when properly persuaded, sang lullabies. And, perhaps most importantly, it was that voice that assured her she was loved.

She could count on one hand the number of times that voice had been silenced. Once by a curse, once by illness, and once from shock. Each time she had sought to right this wrong and succeeded. She couldn't imagine not hearing that voice again, and she wouldn't have to, for her mother would outlive her by many years. Many centuries.

She hadn't imagined as a child that the voice she knew as warm and caring could pin someone to the spot with one syllable. Nor was she aware that it had the capacity to become so icy and full of malice that whole congregations of people shook with fear. And neither was she aware of the immense terror surrounding not only her mother's name but her voice. The same voice that she had learned long ago she could not live without. But, she had learned, in this world, her mother was a figure to be respected.

And feared.

It was a revelation she had not thoroughly been prepared to face. Her mother had warned her of course that the people in this world would not be so glad to see her as she was. And a part of her brain registered these words, but the other part doubted. How could anyone not love her mother?

She had still been but a child when they came to this world. Her mother's world. By their standards she was an adult, almost considered an old maid. Other girls in the villages were already married and had at least one child, and more often than not were expecting a second. She had believed she was ready for this world, and had been severely disappointed.

The ideas and practices scared her. She had not been anywhere close to ready for the responsibilities she was expected to undertake here. In fact, the only reason she had been allowed to come was her unyielding insistence that she wasn't yet ready to be without her mother. And as with her mother's reputation, she had been warned, and yet again neglected to listen. The townsfolk whispered that she was a demon borne of the witch to curse them all; after all, she carried a degree of resemblance in her hair and lip color.

Of course she wasn't there to kill them, she was only there to be with her mother. She didn't even have magic. Whenever she went into town they shied away, reluctant to make eye contact. She took it in stride, but at home would weep for a reputation she had done nothing to earn. But through all the adjusting and grief and embarrassment there was one constant.

Her mother's voice.

It had been there since her early years, guiding her, encouraging her. It never ceased these functions, though now the gentleness was given between bouts of iciness. Not toward her of course. Never toward her. But her mother was a powerful figure, with minions to command and destinies to shape, and so more often than not she was away and in command rather than at her side as she had been for twelve years.

She did not begrudge her this, as she understood her mother's position. And at night, the woman still came to her, asleep or no, to encourage her. Sometimes, when her mother thought she was asleep, she would sit beside her on the bed. Sometimes she would stroke her hair, other times she would hum softly lullabies of days long passed. More often than not she would simply watch her.

She would sometimes, in which she was between consciousness and sleep, hear her speaking. Encouragements, apologies, memories of times forgotten. In that time between self-assurance and finding who she really was, those nights provided comfort. And finally, she was ready to spread her wings. Her mother's voice encouraged her as it always did, sometimes only in her head when the woman herself was absent.

Now, many years after she had come to this world as a confused and frightened child, she stood quietly observing her mother and her daughter, the only child she would ever bear. Her mother's voice which had once soothed and calmed was now once again called into service. It had always been a balm to her soul when troubled, she only hoped her child would find solace in it as well. She watched as her daughter, born with hair as black as midnight, lips the color of a rose, and skin as pale as snow, reached up a small hand and gripped hold of a horn. Her mother's voice rang out in the velvety laughter that she knew so well, but was so scarce these days.

Her daughter's bell-like laughter joined in, and she thought it was perhaps the most wonderful sound in the world at that moment. Her mother hummed quietly before beginning to sing equally as softly a lullaby she had used many times over the years. It was beautiful, and just as smooth as she remembered, not a single indication of age in the melody. If only the people in the village could see her now.

The supposed demon-child and her offspring, something that had been believed impossible. But that wasn't what was so miraculous. No, what was so astounding was her mother, surrounded by cold stone walls, rocking an infant and singing a song in a voice like velvet. They would never believe Maleficent, Mistress of all Evil, could sound so warm. Smirking at the thought, she let herself be lost in the sound of her mother's voice, remembering when that same voice would sing that same song to her. As she said before, she absolutely adored her mother's voice.

It was perhaps the thing she loved most about her mother.


End file.
